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Father Thrift 
and His Animal Friends 

By 

Joseph C. Sindelar 

Author of 

The Nixie Bunny Books 



With Pictures by 

Helen Geraldine Hodge 


Beckley-Cardy Company 


BOOKS BY JOSEPH C. SINDELAR 

Bow-Wow and Mew-Mew (Craik-Sindelar) . 
Illustrated in colors. 

Nixie Bunny in Manners-Land. 

Illustrated in colors. 

Nixie Bunny in Workaday-Land. 

Illustrated in colors. 

Nixie Bunny in Holiday -Land. 

Illustrated in colors. 

Nixie Bunny in Faraway -Lands. 

Illustrated in colors. 

Father Thrift and His Animal Friends. 

Illustrated in black and color. 

Morning Exercises for All the Year. 

Best Memory Gems. 

The Best Thanksgiving Book. 

The Best Christmas Book. 

Merry Christmas Entertainments. 




Copyright, 1918, by Joseph C. Sindelar 

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 

JA.N -2 i 9 19 

• • 


<g,:i.A5094li3 




To 

Joseph C. Jr. 
and 

his friends 



* 



































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PAGE 

The Queer Little Old Man 11 

The Little Old Man Decides 17 

His First Day in the Forest 23 

Great Gray Owl ; 29 

The Animals of the Wood 34 

What Made the Bear Sick 41 

How the Woodpeckers Helped 47 

The Busy Beavers 53 

The Gray Foxes and the Red Foxes 59 

Red Squirrel and Bunny Cottontail 65 

Shaggy Bear’s Mistake 71 

The Sweetest Thing in the Forest 77 

Robins, Crows, and Blackbirds 85 

The Little Raindrops 91 

7 



8 


PAGE 

Trouble in the Forest 97 

Two Bad Boys 103 

The Boys and the Birds 109 

Insects and Worms .115 

After Many Days 123 


As from the days your father’s father knew, 
This little story book now comes to you. 

So when you turn its pages, heed them well: 
Though strange the stories, many truths they 
tell. 

They tell of animals and birds and trees, 

Of children, flowers, and honeybees; 

Of a queer old man, and a quaint old town 
With crooked streets that ran up and down. 

They tell of these and many, many more. 
Still, this I’d add to what has gone before: 
In the wood there grows a tree — the thrifty 
tree — 

As wonderful as anything can be: 

Its trunk is copper; silver are its leaves; 

Its blossoms from bright golden threads it 
weaves. 

Its fruit is health and wealth and honest 
joy — 

So seek this goodly tree, wise girl and boy. 

9 






FATHER THRIFT 
AND HIS ANIMAL FRIENDS 



THE QUEER LITTLE OLD MAN 

Once upon a time, in a quaint old town, 
there lived a queer little old man. His name 
was Thrift — Father Thrift people called 
him, although he really was no father at all. 

As I said before, he was just a queer little 
11 



12 


old man. He had no wife, no children, no 
home of his own. 

But he had a kind heart within his queer 
little body. Also, he had willing hands and 
feet, and these brought him many friends. 

How old the queer little man was, or how 
long he had lived in the quaint old town, no 
one seemed to know. 

The present grandfathers and grandmoth- 
ers remembered how the queer little man 
used to take them, as children, on his lap 
and tell them stories. 

He had told the same stories to their 
children and to their children’s children. Yet 
to none of them did he look any different 
to-day than he did when they first saw him. 

You must not think that telling stories 
was all the queer little old man had to do. 
He was a sort of all-round village helper. 
He helped everybody who needed help. 

But it was for his good advice that the 
queer little old man was most sought. He 


13 


always thought well for everybody, and the 
people profited by following his teaching. 

In fact, the whole town grew prosperous, 
extremely prosperous, by heeding Father 
Thrift’s advice. 

You would suppose that the queer little 
old man would be well rewarded. 

Not so! For when these people became 
very, very prosperous, they felt that the 
queer little old man was only in their way. 

What further need had they of his advice? 

He had taught them to live simply, to 
spend wisely, and to waste nothing. He had 
taught them to enjoy simple pleasures and 
to form simple habits. 

“Of what good is time or money, body 
or brain, if we do not know how to use 
them?” he would say. 

“What will become of good health if we 
do not take care of it? 

“Of what good is study-time or play-time 
unless we get the most we can out of it? 


14 


“Or of what worth is life itself if we 
waste it?” 

But the townspeople would not listen to 
him now. Young Mr. Spendthrift had come 
to town and they followed him. They only 
laughed at Father Thrift. 

“Poor, queer old man!” they said. “He 
must be out of his head.” 

And they began to spend money foolishly, 
and to waste their time and their health as 
well as their money. 

How it grieved the queer little old man to 
see things go so! 

Day after day he would sit with his head 
in his hands, thinking, thinking, thinking. 
(He liked to think even better than most 
people like to eat.) 

Then one day, after he had sat for a long, 
long time thinking, he got up and exclaimed: 
“At last, at last I have it! I’m sure I have it, 
this time. Yes, I’m sure.” 

And those who heard the queer little old 


15 



man said: “Just as we told you. Poor fel- 
low, he ’s out of his head! Some of the wheels 
up here have gotten badly out of order.” 
And they pointed to their foreheads. 

But the old man heard them not. Or if he 
heard he lost no sleep on account of what 
they said. 


16 



17 



THE LITTLE OLD MAN DECIDES 

The next day the whole town was busy — 
very busy — gossiping. Everybody told 
everybody else what the queer little old man 
had been overhead to say. 

But where was the little old man? 

Now that they thought of it, who had seen 
him since the night before? 

Nobody! 

Where could he be? Had he dropped 
through a crack in the floor, his disappear- 
ance could not have been more sudden or 
more complete. 

Every one was excited. It was not that 
the town cared particularly about the queer 
little old man. It was not that, at all. Only 


18 


the people were curious to learn where he 
could have gone or what could have happened 
to him. 

Leading from the town was a crooked road 
that was traveled but little. At the end of 
the road was a great forest where there lived 
many animals and birds. 

Had any of the townspeople been up very, 
very early on the morning that the queer 
little old man disappeared, they need not 
have been so excited. 

For on that morning a bent little figure 
might have been seen trudging along the 
crooked road leading toward the forest. 

The man was dressed poorly, almost 
shabbily. He walked slowly, and seemed to 
be deep’ in thought. 

Over his shoulder he carried a cane. From 
it hung a bag made of a big red figured 
handkerchief. 

Apparently the man was on a journey, 


19 



and. the big red figured handkerchief was 
his traveling bag. 

The fat, round-faced Moon Man smiled 
down from his home in the sky at the little 
figure in the road. His mouth seemed to 
move, and I am sure he was saying: 

“Go, brave little old man. Go where 
you ’ve decided to go. 

“If you are going to the forest, you will no 
doubt find a welcome there. Some animals 
and birds are better as friends than are 
some people. 


20 


“Anyway, the great forest is in need of 
your lessons. I will light the way for you. 
May the good spirits attend you!” 

And in the stillness of the early morning 
the queer little old man of the quaint old 
town might have been heard to answer: 

“So I have decided. Come what may, I 
shall be satisfied. 

“Thank you, kind Moon Man, for your 
good wishes and for your bright light.” 

And on and on he trudged. 

The orange sun was peeping its head above 
the horizon when the queer little old man 
reached the edge of the forest. 

What warmth the glorious sun gave! His 
rays gave warmth of heart as well as warmth 
of body. 

The old man sat down on a log, to rest his 
tired legs and to take a bite to eat. 

Then a voice within the queer little old 
man began to talk. 

It said: “Perhaps, after all, you should 


21 


not have left the quaint old town. You were 
a coward to run away. 

“Ever since young Mr. Spendthrift came 
there to .live you have been discontented. 
And when the. people began to take his advice 
rather than yours, you grew angry and left. 

“Is that the way for an old man to do who 
always had plenty to eat and to wear?” 

But another voice with a fiery little temper 
was waiting to be heard. 

“What!” it cried, “have you no principle? 
Ar e you a worm, to be stepped upon? 

“Waste is wrong, no matter what you 
waste. Thrift is right and forever will be. 

“Therefore, hie you to the heart of the 
forest as you have decided. You will at least 
have peace of mind, and surely that is worth 
as much as ‘plenty to eat and to wear’!” 


22 





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23 



HIS FIRST DAY IN THE FOREST 

At last Father Thrift was in the heart of 
the forest. 

It was very peaceful there. 

The wind rustled the leaves on the trees. 

The birds flew among the branches and 
sang and talked and scolded. 

Do birds ever scold? 

Oh, my, yes! You should hear the mother 
birds, sometimes, when the father birds 
waste their time about the house and the 
baby birds are hungry! 

But this morning nearly everything in the 
forest seemed happy. 

The squirrels leaped from tree to tree. 


24 


Robin sang his merry “Cheer-up! chee, 
chee! Cheer-up! chee, chee!” And he sang 
it again and again. 

I think he tried to say: “Welcome, queer 
little old man! Welcome to the forest!” 
(Besides, he may have found some good fat 
worms to eat.) 

The dry leaves and small twigs crackled 
under the little old man’s feet as he walked 
along. 

He could hear the soft, rippling sound of 
the water as it ran over the stones in the 
brook. 

He knew that in the shade of the bending 
willow trees little fishes played in the 
water. 

Blue sky was above him. Green grass was 
all around him. Flowers grew at his feet. 

Was not the forest a glorious place in 
which to be! 

The queer little old man drew in a deep, 
deep breath. 


25 



The air was filled with the perfume of the 
pine trees. 

“Tap, tap, tap!” Who is disturbing the 
peace of the forest? It sounds like a 
carpenter with his hammer. 


26 


“Tap, tap, tap!” There it goes again. 

The queer little old man looked around. 

“Oh, there you are, you little redhead!” 
he said. 

It was Woodpecker. Funny bird! How 
swiftly he climbs the trunk of the tree! 

“Tap, tap, tap!” he knocks with his bill. 
“Come out from under the bark, you bugs!” 
he cries. “I want some dinner.” 

But the bugs do not always come. So 
Woodpecker bores a hole in the decayed 
part of the tree and with his bill goes after 
them. 

Does he get them? Yes, indeed; so quickly 
does he work that the poor little bugs 
would n’t have time to whistle for help even 
if they knew how. 

“Curious fellow, that!” said the queer little 
old man. “He is industrious, too. 

“He reminds me of the hop-toad that came 
to one of the gardens last summer. 

“The toad, too, used to catch and eat the 


27 


bugs. By doing so he saved many a plant 
from being destroyed. 

“But what a homely old fellow he was! And 
how handsome the woodpecker is! 

“It is quite true that one does not grow to 
look like what he eats, but rather like what 
he thinks. 

“The hop-toad lives so close to the ground 
that he sees only the brown earth. And if he 
thinks at all he thinks of that. 

“But the woodpecker flies in the air and 
lives in the trees. 

“He sees the blue sky and the pretty 
flowers and the silvery brook. There is 
beauty all around him. And if you wish to 
know of what he thinks, just see how he 
looks.” 

Thus the queer old man spent his first day 
in the forest. Every little thing interested 
him. He watched the busy bees at work. 
He traced the footprints of bears and rabbits 
and deer in the soft ground along the brook. 


28 


But at last night came and spread itfc 
cover of darkness over all. 

In a cave the queer little man made a 
soft bed of dry leaves. Then he lay down 
to sleep. 

“Friends, good-night,” he whispered to 
the forest. 

And the trees rustled back, “Good-night, 
good-night.” 


29 



GREAT GRAY OWL 

Great Gray Owl sat up in the tree, winking 
and blinking. 

He would turn his head first in one direc- 
tion, then in another. 

Wise old bird! What he could not see 
with those large glassy eyes of his was hardly 
worth seeing. 

Suddenly he flew to the ground. There, 
like a brave sentinel, he marched back and 
forth in front of the cave in which Father 
Thrift was sleeping. 

Several times in the night the queer little 
old man heard the hooting of the owl. More 
than once he thought he heard the wise 
bird say, “Who-oo, who-oo goes there?” 


30 


The first time a sharp “Hiss-ss, hiss-ss!” 
came in reply. Father Thrift shivered to 
think of a snake crawling so near him. 

Then he heard the owl’s sharp command: 
“Halt! What is your business here?” 

“I ’m visiting friends that live in a hole in 
that cave,” replied the snake. 

“I advise you to do your visiting some 
other time,” said the owl. “Father Thrift 
is sleeping in the cave to-night. He must 
not be disturbed.” 

With the snake the owl’s word was law. 
He had known of several snakes that had 
shortened their lives by not taking the wise 
bird’s advice. 

“Such strong claws, such a hooked bill, 
such sharp eyes, are not to be trifled with,” 
thought the snake, as he wriggled along 
toward home. “But what is the forest 
coming to when one can’t visit his friends? 
Besides, who is Father Thrift, anyway?” 

Just then Great Gray Owl called to the 


31 



snake: “Come to the cave, here, at ten 
o’clock in the morning and don’t forget. Tell 
your friends to come, too. There will be a 
meeting of all the animals of the forest.” 

As he finished saying this the owl heard 
a loud crackling of twigs and a rustling of 
leaves behind him. He turned around jiist 
in time to face Shaggy Bear. 

“What, ho, Friend Owl!” cried the bear. 
“What are you about this evening? Are 


32 


you looking for wee mice or for tender little 
bunnies?” 

“No,” said Great Gray Owl, “not to-night. 
I am keeping watch so that Father Thrift 
may not be disturbed in his sleep.” 

“And who, pray, may Father Thrift be?” 
asked Shaggy Bear. 

“To-morrow, at ten o’clock in the morning, 
if you will come back here, you may learn 
who Father Thrift is. For the present I 
will say that the cave in which you have 
been in the habit of sleeping will be Father 
Thrift’s home in the future.” 

“So, so!” growled Shaggy Bear. “So, so/” 
(He spoke this last rather crossly.) 

“Yes,” said Great Gray Owl, “that, at least, 
has been decided.” 

Then he went on: “Aren’t you glad it 
was your cave that was chosen for Father 
Thrift? Aren’t you glad f Think of the 
honor it will be to you to have him use it! 
Just think of it!” 


33 


What a fine fellow the owl was, to be 
sure, to give other people’s things away so 
generously! 

As for the bear, whether he thought of 
the honor or not, I cannot say. He never 
was known to be much of a thinker. 

Nevertheless the owl’s tactful words 
soothed him, and he felt quite satisfied to 
leave things as they were. 

“I know of other caves and of hollows 
in trees where I can sleep,” said Shaggy 
Bear. “When I’m full of honey I don’t 
care!” 

That the bear was full of honey seemed 
quite clear. 

Indeed, if you might judge by outside 
appearances, he was over full. The sticky 
stuff was running down his chin, and he 
kept wiping, it off with his big paw as he 
walked away in lazy bear fashion. 

Before morning all the animals of the 
wood, and the birds and the bees, knew that 


34 


at ten o’clock there would be a meeting at 
the cave. 

What it was about or who Father Thrift 
was, not one of them knew. That is, no one 
knew except the owl; and he wouldn’t say. 


35 



THE ANIMALS OF THE FOREST 

The next morning the sun was up before 
Father Thrift. In fact, when he awoke the 
sun had already taken the sparkling dew- 
drops away on a journey back to the clouds. 

The sky was bright. The birds were 
singing, the insects humming. And the 
flowers were smiling and thanking the sun 
for the warmth and the light. 

Father Thrift rubbed his eyes and looked 
about him. Something was wrong, very 
wrong! 

The rooster was n’t crowing. The dog 
was n’t barking. The horses were n’t 
neighing. Those were familiar sounds to 


36 


Father Thrift’s ears. And he missed them. 

He drew a deep breath. The air was 
sweet with the odor of fir trees and of pine. 

“Ah,” he said, “how could I have 
forgotten that only yesterday I left the 
quaint old town! 

“This, then, is my new home in the forest. 
It is a glorious home!” 

Soon the queer little old man had his 
breakfast. He had freshly picked berries 
and bread, and clear, cool water from a 
spring near by. 

Then he sat down on a log, to think. 

Suddenly he heard a great rustling of 
leaves and a flapping and fluttering of 
wings. 

Turning around, he found himself face to 
face with such a gathering of animals and 
birds as he had never in his life seen. 

And at his elbow stood — who do you 
suppose? Great Gray Owl, whom he had 
heard hoot in the night. 


37 


Before Father Thrift had time to ask what 
the gathering was about, Great Gray Owl 
rolled his big eyes and said: “Father Thrift, 
permit me to introduce to you the animals 
of the forest.” 

“I am happy to meet you all,” said Father 
Thrift kindly. 

Then the animals gave a shout that 
sounded like three cheers and a hundred 
tigers. 

Do you wonder at that? You will not 
when I tell you all that were present. 

There were the shaggy bears, the red 
foxes, the busy beavers, the gray wolves, 
the cottontail rabbits, the bushytail squirrels, 
the woodchucks, the chipmunks, and the 
deer. 

Then there were the eagles, the owls, the 
hawks, the crows, the bluejays, and the 
robins, and many others of the bird family. 
Even the honeybees and the butterflies, the 
insects and the snakes were there. 


38 



Indeed, all the animals of the forest must 
have been present, there were so many. 

It was wonderful how quickly they had 
learned of Father Thrift’s coming to their 
home. 

Now the Great Gray Owl was waving a 
stick in the air, motioning for silence. 

When everything was quiet, he perched 
himself on a tall stump, where every one 
could see him, and made a speech. 



39 


“Father Thrift,” he said, “we welcome you 
to the forest. We are glad that you have 
come to live with us. 

“Many years ago we birds and animals 
had a king. But he died and since then 
things have not gone well with us. 

“We have not lived wisely. I fear many 
of us have wasted when we had plenty, and 
suffered when what we had was gone. 

“If you will be our king, we will promise 
to do exactly as you say.” 

He rolled his big eyes at the animals and 
asked, “Won’t we?” And every one of the 
animals shouted, “We will!” 

But Father Thrift declared that he would 
rather be only one of them, instead of being 
their ruler. 

He would advise them, and teach them, 
and help them. 

“And we will help you, too,” said Shaggy 
Bear. “I’ll give you my cave for keeps, 
to begin with.” 


40 


“And I ’ll bring you nuts to eat,” said 
Bushytail Squirrel. 

“And I ’ll bring you some of my honey,” 
said Honeybee. “That is, I will if Shaggy 
Bear doesn’t steal it all.” 

“And I ’ll bring you plenty of mice,” said 
Great Gray Owl. 

But Father Thrift only smiled at that. 
For, of course, mice would be of no use 
to him! 


41 



WHAT MADE THE BEAR SICK 

Father Thrift was busy carrying pine 
needles into his cave. Pine needles make a 
soft carpet. And the bare floor of the cave 
was so hard. 

At last he had enough and he sat down to 
rest. 

Just then he looked out of his cave and 
saw Shaggy Bear, half walking, half 
crawling toward him. 

“Why, whatever is the matter?” Father 
Thrift exclaimed in astonishment. 

“I am so sick I believe I shall die,” groaned 
the bear. The poor fellow’s face was pale 
and tears were running down his cheeks. 


42 


“Oh, cheer up, cheer up!” cried Father 
Thrift briskly. “Why should you want to 
die?” 

“That’s it — I don’t!” returned the bear 
sorrowfully. “But I believe my time has 
come.” 

“Where do you feel the worst — in your 
stomach?” asked Father Thrift. 

“Yes,” replied Shaggy Bear. “That is 
where the trouble started.” 

“I thought so; I thought so,” said Father 
Thrift. “I wonder that you were not sick 
before. 

“Now, first of all, let me tell you that you 
are not going to die, not yet. But should 
you keep on eating as you have eaten in the 
past few weeks, you could never expect to 
be strong and healthy.” 

“Why?” asked the bear, brightening up 
suddenly. 

But Father Thrift did not answer his 
question. 


43 



“I am going to suggest something for you 
to do, Shaggy,’’ he said. 

The bear looked puzzled but hopeful. 

“You won’t like it,” Father Thrift 
continued. “No one ever did. But it is the 
only way by which you can become well and 
strong again. 

“The very first time I saw you I knew 
that you were not eating the right kind 
of meals. 

“Why, bears are known to have such good 


44 


appetites that we often hear boys say, ‘I ’m 
as hungry as a bear!’ 

“But you don’t feel that way. That is 
because you eat too much honey and not 
enough solid, nourishing food. 

“This makes you sick. And while perhaps 
you wouldn’t die from it, you would grow 
to be cross and disagreeable. Then no one 
would like you. Would that be any better?” 

The bear scratched his head. “But what 
am I to do?” he asked. 

“Stop eating sweets for three months,” 
advised Father Thrift. “Don’t you see that 
you spoil your appetite for good roots and 
berries by eating too much honey? 

“■What, do you suppose, would become of 
boys and girls who ate nothing but cookies 
and candy, instead of milk and eggs, and 
meat and bread, and vegetables and fruit? 

“A little candy, when eaten after meals, 
seldom hurts anybody. When you are better 
you may have a little honey again, too. 


45 


“Another thing. Besides eating and 
sleeping, what do you do?” 

“Nothing,” replied Shaggy Bear. 

“Hereafter you must spend some time each 
day working or walking or playing outdoors,” 
said Father Thrift. “You need exercise. 

“Don’t be afraid to run. That will fill 
your lungs with pure, fresh air and make 
your blood circulate more freely. 

“Eat only three meals a day and be regular. 
Do not eat between meals. Remember that 
the stomach works hard and needs rest as 
much as do your feet. 

“Eat slowly and chew your food well, 
and I promise that at the end of three 
months you will feel better than you have 
ever felt in your life.” 

The bear made a wry face at all this. For 
he liked honey about as much as he disliked 
exercise. 

“Mayn’t I eat some honey?” he asked 
pleadingly. 


46 


Father Thrift looked at him a little sternly. 

“None for three months,” he said. 

Shaggy Bear was in earnest and at once 
promised to do as he was told. 

Then, as the bear rose to go, Father Thrift 
patted him on the back. 

“You mustn’t let this spoil your good 
times,” he said. “Only remember that 
nobody can be happy without good health.” 

It was a hard trial for the bear. 

. Many, many times he was tempted to 
stuff himself with honey and then roll up 
in his cave and go to sleep. But each time 
he turned sadly away from temptation. 

And at the end of three months he was as 
sound and healthy as a bear could be. Then 
how grateful he was to Father Thrift for his 
good advice! 

And the queer little old man was happy 
to think that he had been able to help Shaggy 
so much. 



HOW THE WOODPECKERS HELPED 

One morning, as Father Thrift was sitting 
in front of his cave sunning himself, he 
heard some one crying. 

It was a squeaky sort of cry. 

Father Thrift could not imagine who it 
could be that was in trouble. 

He looked around, but saw no one. 

Then he listened. The sound came from 
behind a large tree near by. He walked 
over to the spot. And there sat — who do 
you suppose? 

Little Gray Squirrel, crying into his 
maple-leaf handkerchief as though his very 
heart would break! 


48 


“What is the matter, Gray Squirrel?” 
asked Father Thrift. 

“Oh, Father Thrift,” sobbed Little Gray 
Squirrel, “let me tell you what some bad 
boys did to me! 

“I live in the big old oak tree near the 
edge of the forest. I have a nest in the old 
tree’s trunk. There I live with my baby 
squirrels. There, too, I have gathered and 
stored nuts for food. 

“ An d now some boys have stolen all my 
nuts! 

“Soon the cold days of winter will come. 
Then what shall I do for food for my babies 
and myself?” 

And the poor little squirrel cried until he 
almost choked, and fresh tears ran down his 
cheeks. 

Father Thrift looked angry. He said: 
“This is very bad. I am sorry to hear all this, 
good Gray Squirrel. While I cannot give 
you back the nuts which the boys stole, I 


49 



think I can send some one to help you 
gather more. 

“There are still some nuts on the ground, 
and we ’ll help you to find them.” 

Little Gray Squirrel thanked Father Thrift 
for his kind words. Then he dried his tears 
and started for home. 

And the queer little old man sat watching 
the bushy tail as it whisked down the 
crooked path and out of sight. 

Then all of a sudden he heard a sharp 
“Tap-tap-tap!” 



50 


Without even looking up Father Thrift 
knew who it was. “A friend in need,” he 
said to himself. 

Then he called to the woodpecker that was 
doing the knocking. “I wish to talk with 
you,” he said. 

Woodpecker flew down, and Father Thrift 
told him all about Little Gray Squirrel. 

“Oh, we will help him gather a fresh store 
of nuts,” said Mr. Woodpecker. “Indeed, we 
will help!” And he flew away. 

Within a very short time a whole flock of 
woodpeckers was flying toward Little Gray 
Squirrel’s home. 

Soon Little Gray Squirrel’s troubles were 
over, for the woodpeckers filled his winter 
storeroom full of the choicest nuts. Now he 
was sure of having plenty to eat all winter 
for himself and his family. And how 
thankful he was! 

But that is not all. 

When the woodpeckers were through 


51 


filling the squirrel’s storeroom with nuts, 
did they stop? 

No, indeed! One woodpecker who was 
oluer than the others got up on the topmost 
branch of the tree and said: 

“Dear brothers, do you realize now how 
foolish we have been all our lives? 

“In the summer we feed on bugs and 
beetles and ants and seeds. 

“Then in the winter, because we know no 
better, some of us go South. Some of us go 
hungry, and some of us die, because we 
cannot find enough to eat. 

“Why cannot we, too, store up nuts and 
have food for the winter as the squirrels do?” 

“The very thing!” cried the other wood- 
peckers. 

So they all began gathering acorns and 
beechnuts and storing them in the bark of 
the trees. 

Some of the nuts they would drop beneath 
the bark of the tree. And some they would 


52 


drive with their strong bills into cracks and 
holes which they found here and there. 

The trees which were old and worm-eaten 
were, of course, the easiest into which to 
drive the nuts. Knotholes, too, were good 
places in which to store food. 

When the woodpeckers had many, many 
nuts stored away, one of them said: 

“Isn’t it strange that we didn’t think of 
this before! We need not go South to find a 
new home this winter. We can stay right 
here and still have plenty to eat.” 

And that is what they did. 

So, while the woodpeckers helped Little 
Gray Squirrel out of his trouble, they helped 
themselves into the good habit of learning 
to save. And they have not forgotten it to 
this day. 


53 



THE BUSY BEAVERS 

One evening Father Thrift was sitting by 
the brook, looking into the water. The bright 
silver moon made the night almost as light 
as day. Everything was quiet, except for a 
faint ripple of the water. 

Suddenly Father Thrift heard something 
go, “Splash-sh! splash-sh! splash! splash!” 
almost beside him. 

Then he heard a voice calling from the 
water. 

“Father Thrift,” it said, “you have never 
visited us. Won’t you take your canoe and 
come now?” 

And Father Thrift, looking into the water, 
saw that it was Mr. Beaver who was calling. 



54 


“Thank you, thank you, Mr. Beaver!” 
replied the queer little old man. “I will 
accept your invitation with pleasure.” 

And soon the two were making their way 
through the water to the place where the 
beavers were building their home. 

And where do you suppose that was? 

On a nice sunny hill? Or in the shade of 
the trees? 

No, no! Instead, it was in the middle of 
a pond which the beavers themselves had 
made by building a dam of mud and sticks. 

The beavers’ house was made of mud and 
sticks mixed with stones. Or, rather, it was 
being made. The beavers were still working 
at it. 

“My, my,” said Father Thrift, “how very, 
very late you beavers work! Don’t you ever 
rest? 

“I know you are very industrious. Nearly 
everybody knows that, as there is a familiar 
saying among us that an industrious person 


55 



works like a beaver. But I never supposed 
that you worked all the time!” 

“We don’t,” replied Mr. Beaver. “We 
work only at night. All of our work is done 
then. And I am ashamed to tell you that 
there are some beavers who do not wish to 
work at all.” 

“So!” exclaimed Father Thrift. “I am 
surprised at that. And do they live here, 
too?” 



56 


“Oh, no,” said Mr. Beaver. “We have no 
place for lazy beavers, or ‘old bachelors,’ as 
we call them. Usually we cut their tails off 
and chase them away.” 

“That is punishment enough,” said Father 
Thrift. “Still, lazy folks deserve no better. 
Wasting time is just as bad as wasting food, 
or money, or anything else.” 

Then Father Thrift stopped to watch the 
interesting and wonderful ways of the wise 
beavers. 

Some of them dug mud out of the bottom 
of the creek. 

Others cut sticks from bushes and trees 
with their big chisel-edged teeth. By biting 
out chips, one by one, a beaver can easily cut 
down a large tree. 

The mud and sticks for their house and 
dam they carried against their breasts as 
they swam, holding them there with their 
forefeet. Then they would put the sticks in 
place and press the mud down. 


57 


Their tails they used only for swimming. 
But, then, those big, strong tails make fine 
propellers. 

“You are building a very large house, it 
seems to me,” remarked Father Thrift. 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Beaver. “But you 
must remember that several families of 
beavers live in the different rooms of this 
house.” 

“Just so, just so,” said the queer little 
old man. “I suppose that you find your 
house comfortable. But is n’t it rather 
damp?” 

“In some parts, yes,” admitted Mr. Beaver. 
“But in the center of our house we have 
rooms above the water. 

“Of course, as you know, we cannot climb 
trees like a squirrel. Neither can we burrow 
like a cottontail rabbit. But in deep water 
we are safe. 

“We enter and leave our homes from 
beneath the water, unseen. And when we 


58 


are attacked by enemies we take to the water 
to save ourselves.” 

“I have been told that your food is chiefly 
the roots of the common yellow water lily,” 
said Father Thrift. “What do you do in the 
winter when the pond is frozen and there are 
no lily roots to be had?” 

“Oh,” said Mr. Beaver, “we eat the bark 
of trees, too — mostly poplar, birch, and 
willow. But, as the ice prevents us from 
getting to the land in winter, we should not 
have even that to eat if we did not cut a 
supply of sticks in the summer time. 

“These we throw into the water opposite 
the doors of our houses and leave them there 
for the winter, for bark is good beaver food.” 

Father Thrift nodded. But on his way 
home he could have been heard to say: “Wise 
little animals! Always working. Always 
saving. Always having.” 


59 



THE GRAY FOXES AND THE RED FOXES 

Since Father Thrift came to the forest 
to live, one night each week (except in bad 
or very cold weather) had been “story night.” 

On “story night” all the animals would 
meet in front of his cave to hear and tell 
stories. 

This night Gray Fox was to tell a story. 

Gray Fox was a good story-teller, and so 
he always had a large audience. Most of the 
animals were present to hear him. 

And this is the story Gray Fox told: 

There was once a young fox who was 
very wasteful. He left half his food on his 


60 


plate. He spent all his pennies for candy. 
He broke his playthings purposely, and tore 
his clothes needlessly. There was really no 
end to his wastefulness. 

This fox belonged to the family of Gray 
Foxes. And the Gray Foxes were a pros- 
perous nation. 

They lived peaceably among themselves 
and with their neighbors, and every one had 
plenty to eat, to wear, and to spend. 

So no one paid much attention to Young 
Fox’s wastefulness. Or if the other foxes did 
pay attention to him, they rather imitated 
him, for he was a clever young fox. 

Soon nearly all the young foxes grew 
wasteful. They all left half their food on 
their plates. They all spent their pennies 
for candy. They all broke their playthings 
purposely, and tore their clothes needlessly. 
There was no end to their wastefulness. 

And so things went from bad to worse. 

But one day a messenger brought the Gray 


61 . 



Foxes some bad news. The Red Foxes were 
preparing to make war upon the Gray Foxes! 

“Why make war upon us?” asked the Gray 
Foxes. “We are a peaceable nation. We 
harm no one.” 

“True, true!” said Governor Gray Fox. 
“But remember, also, that we are a prosper- 
ous nation. W 7 e are too prosperous to please 


.62 


the Red Foxes. We must prepare to defend 
ourselves.” 

And they did prepare. And then there was 
a long and bloody war between the Gray 
Foxes and the Red Foxes. 

The Gray Fox fathers and brothers, who 
should have been working in the fields and 
mills and factories, were out killing the Red 
Fox fathers and brothers. . 

And the Red Fox fathers and brothers, 
instead of working in their fields and mills 
and factories, were out killing the Gray Fox 
fathers and brothers. 

But the foxes did not stop eating. And 
they did not stop wearing clothes. 

Just as many foxes as ever were eating 
food and wearing clothes. Yet only about 
half as many were left at home to make the 
things to eat and the clothes to wear. The 
rest of the foxes were away at war. 

So, of course, there were only half as many 
things to eat and to wear as there had been 


63 


before. And because there were only half 
as many, and every one wanted these, they 
cost twice as much. 

Now it seemed as though the poor foxes 
would n’t have money enough to buy food 
and clothes. And they worried as to how 
they could get along. 

But the rich foxes, like Young Fox and 
his friends, could still buy all the things they 
wanted, because they had plenty of money. 
They bought more than they needed. 

“This will never do!” declared Governor 
Gray Fox. “Everybody must eat, and 
everybody must wear clothes. 

“Hereafter every one will get an equal 
share of the food, and nothing must be 
wasted. And clothes will cost just so much 
and no more.” 

The poor foxes said that that was fair 
enough, for they hadn’t anything to waste. 
But the rich foxes complained bitterly. They 
said the Governor was trying to starve them. 


64 


Still, they had to do as the Governor said. 
And it was good for them to do with less. It 
is true that the fat foxes lost their big 
stomachs, but that made them look hand- 
somer. It also made them feel much better. 

No one ever left anything on his plate 
now. No one spent his money foolishly. No 
one broke his things purposely, or tore his 
clothes needlessly. There was an end to all 
the wastefulness. 

And when the war was over the Gray 
Foxes grew prosperous again. Only this 
time there were no foxes as poor as there 
had been before the war. Neither were 
there any quite so rich. 

But every one had plenty. And because 
all shared fairly, they all lived more happily. 

“Which shows,” added Father Thrift, “that 
everything which happens is for the best, and 
the world is a good place to live in, after all.” 


65 



RED SQUIRREL AND BUNNY COTTONTAIL 

The ground was covered deep with snow, 
and it was bitter cold in the forest. 

But Mr. Red Squirrel and his family were 
quite comfortable in their cozy home. 

Mr. Red Squirrel lived with his wife and 
three children in the hollow of an old oak 
tree. They were a thrifty and industrious 
family. 

They always had plenty to eat, besides 
something laid away for a rainy day. 

That is because Mr. Red Squirrel was very 
careful about little things, and brought up 
his family to be the same. 

Before the nuts were fully ripe, the 



6G 


squirrels would climb the trees, gnaw the 
stems, and drop the nuts to the ground. 

Then they would scamper down and gather 
them into neat piles. They would eat 
some of the new nuts for breakfast, and put 
the rest away in the granaries. 

They worked hard all the summer and 
autumn, getting food for the winter. And 
never a thing was wasted in Mr. Squirrel’s 
house. 

On this cold winter’s night Mr. and Mrs. 
Squirrel and the three little squirrels sat 
warm and snug in their home in the old oak 
tree. Suddenly there came a tiny tap at the 
door. 

It might have been the wind. Mrs. Squir- 
rel was not sure. She listened. The sound 
came again. Yes, some one certainly was 
knocking at their door. 

Who could it be, this bitter cold night? 

Mr. Squirrel got up and opened the door. 
At first he saw no one. 


67 



“Who ’s there?” he called, in his pleasant, 
cheery voice. 

“It is I, neighbor,” answered a weak voice, 
sadly. “Please let me in! I am cold and 
hungry!” 

Mr. Squirrel opened the door wide, and 
said: “Yes, come in, come in. It is a bitter 
cold night, to be sure. Come in and let me 
shut the door. My tail is nearly frozen just 
from standing here.” 


68 


Then there came hopping into the hollow 
of the tree trunk a rabbit. Poor Bunny 
Cottontail, how miserable he did look! 

His coat was all dirty and ragged. And his 
poor little tail hung down behind instead of 
standing up straight and stiff, as a rabbit’s 
tail ought to do. 

His ears drooped, and his whiskers were 
broken and limp. He had rheumatism in one 
hind leg, and his eyes, which should have 
been as bright as Mr. Squirrel’s, were dull 
and dim. 

Altogether he looked as shabby and sad 
as a bunny coiild look — not at all like a 
respectable, well-brought-up rabbit. 

Mr. Squirrel hastened to put poor Bunny 
into the warmest corner of the hollow. And 
Mrs. Squirrel brought him some food, which 
he ate eagerly. 

The little squirrels were so astonished at 
the rabbit’s appearance that they did not 
know what to make of him. 


69 


When Bunny was warm and rested, Mrs. 
Squirrel sent her little ones to bed. 

Then she and Mr. Squirrel began to try to 
find out what had happened to make their 
poor neighbor so forlorn. 

“How could I help it?” he cried 
mournfully. “I did not know that it would 
be so cold, nor that the snow would be so 
deep that I should not be able to get a bit of 
winter cabbage to eat. 

“I am sure I am willing to work. I would 
take any trouble, but it is not a bit of use. 
Indeed, Neighbor Squirrel, I do not see how 
you have managed.” 

And he looked enviously around the neat, 
warm little nest. 

“It was very simple,” replied Mr. Squirrel, 
gravely. “We all helped and put away part 
of everything we found. If we found six 
nuts, we put away at least three in our 
storeroom. And nuts and acorns were very 
plentiful this autumn. 


70 


“So, though the winter is very hard, we 
shall have plenty. We have plenty for a 
friend, too. So eat as much as you will, 
neighbor, and don’t spare the loaf.” 

It was very kind of Mr. Squirrel, but he 
could not help the poor rabbit much. 

Bunny had been such an idle, wandering 
fellow that he could not be content to stay 
with Mr. and Mrs. Squirrel quietly and help 
to do the work of their little home. So in a 
few days he wandered away. 

As he shivered in the cold and tried to find 
enough to eat, he often wished that he had 
been as wise and as thrifty as the Squirrel 
family. 

And the Squirrel family, being as kind- 
hearted as they were thrifty, often thought 
of the poor rabbit with pity. They wondered 
how he was getting on, but they never heard 
of him again. 


71 



SHAGGY BEAR’S MISTAKE 

Father Thrift was carrying in wood for his 
fire. It had been a long and hard winter. 

Suddenly he heard footsteps in the snow 
behind him. He looked around. And there 
— would you believe it! — stood his old' 
friend, Shaggy Bear. 

Shaggy was as thin as a shadow, and his 
teeth chattered with the cold. 

“My, my, but you are out early this year!” 
exclaimed Father Thrift. “Come in and 
warm yourself by the fire.” 

Shaggy needed no coaxing. He was so cold 


72 


that even his voice had frozen in his throat! 
At least he couldn’t speak a word until he 
grew warm. 

And the way that bear snuggled up to 
Father Thrift’s fire was comical to see! 

At last he managed to say: “Father Thrift, 
I should n’t know this place if I had not lived 
here so long. You have a door on the cave, 
and two windows. And you have chairs and 
a table, and — and two beds. 

“Why have you two beds, Father Thrift?” 

“One is for company,” answered the queer 
little old man. 

“If you had just one more bed, I should 
say this was the House of the Three Bears.” 

And Shaggy laughed at his little joke. (Or 
perhaps the good meal which Father Thrift 
had prepared for him tickled his stomach.) 

“Where have you been all winter?” asked 
Father Thrift. 

“When the cold days came,” said the bear, 
“I crawled into my cave in the rocks and 


73 


curled myself up into a big ball. There I 
meant to stay until the warm days of spring. 

“The snow made a door to my cave, and 
I intended to sleep all winter long. 

“Then the wind swept the snow away from 
my door and I awoke and looked about. 
I thought that spring had come. 

“And that is where I made my mistake. I 
should have gone to sleep again. But I was 
hungry, having had nothing to eat all winter. 
So I crawled out. 

“The roots and the berries are still asleep 
under the snow. The fish are under the ice. 
There is nothing for me to do but return 
to my cave and go back to sleep.” 

“You must not do that,” said Father 
Thrift. “That would be wasting time. And 
time is the most precious thing we have.” 

“Is it?” the bear asked in surprise. 

“Indeed it is!” replied Father Thrift. “We 
may lose wealth, but by hard work and sav- 
ing we may win it back. 


74 



“We may lose health, and with care and 
medicine restore it. But time that is lost is 
gone forever.” 

The bear listened to Father Thrift’s wise 
talk, but he shivered and said: “Still, I am 
cold; and I can find no food to eat.” 

“I have a warm fire,” said Father Thrift. 
“And I have food enough for us both, and 
to spare. I will share with you if you will 
help me with my work.” 

“That I will, gladly!” cried Shaggy, who 



75 


was still smacking his lips over the fine din- 
ner he had eaten. “But how does it happen 
that you have food, when the ground has 
been frozen so long?” 

“When you learn to look ahead,” replied 
Father Thrift, “you will find that easy 
enough. 

“In the warm days I prepare for the cold 
days which I know are coming. I raise my 
crops. I gather berries and plums, and pre- 
serve them. The apples and the nuts will 
keep as they are. 

“So, you see, instead of letting go to waste 
what I cannot use when food is plentiful, I 
save it for the days when food is scarce.” 

“Then do you rest all winter?” asked the 
bear. 

“No!” said Father Thrift. “In the winter 
many things are waiting to be done. Then 
I make my clothes, shoes, furniture, tools, 
and other things.” 

“What are you making now?” questioned 


76 


the bear, as Father Thrift whittled pieces of 
wood with his knife. 

“These will be wooden spouts,” answered 
Father Thrift. “You like sweet things — 
honey, for instance.” 

Father Thrift smiled. Do you know why? 

“Well, maple sirup and maple sugar are 
about as sweet as honey. These spouts will 
help us get all we want of both.” 

“Will they?” cried Shaggy eagerly. “How?” 

“The maple trees, too,” Father Thrift told 
him, “have been sleeping all winter. Most 
of the sap has been down in their roots. In 
the early spring it travels upward into the 
trunk and branches and the trees awake. 

“The maple tree does not need all its sap. 
It is willing to give some of it to us. An d 
when you have maple sirup you won’t have 
to steal honey from the bees.” 

This pleased Shaggy so much that he stood 
up on his hind legs and danced a bear dance. 
How Father Thrift laughed! 


77 



THE SWEETEST THING IN THE FOREST 

Father Thrift spent the next few days in 
making wooden pails, in which to gather the 
maple sap. 

What a lot of measuring and sawing and 
fitting and finishing it takes to make a few 
pails! 

Shaggy Bear helped as much as he could. 
But bears are such clumsy things! 

Finally one day Father Thrift said to 
Shaggy: “Now everything is ready. We 
have our spouts with which to draw the sap 
from the trees. And we have the wooden 
pails and some earthen crocks I made from 
clay last summer, in which to gather it. 


78 


“There is a large iron kettle we will use 
for boiling the sap down into sirup and sugar. 

“To-morrow we will tap our trees.” 

“Why to-morrow?” asked the bear. “That 
seems too long to wait. Why not to-day?” 

“Because,” replied Father Thrift, “every- 
thing depends on time. There isn’t time 
enough left to-day. To-morrow we will start 
work real early. And to get up early 
to-morrow we must get to bed early to-night.” 

“I don’t see how I shall be able to sleep at 
all,” grumbled the bear. 

But in a few moments he was fast asleep 
where he sat. 

He was a funny fellow! 

Still, Father Thrift did not mind. He 
liked the quiet. "When it was quiet he could 
think. In that he was quite different from 
many people, who like only to talk. 

And he thought to himself: “Suppose 
that each person wastes one hour a day. A 
hundred days, a hundred hours. Multiply 


79 


that by the number of people in the 
world — ” 

But the figures were too large even for 
Father Thrift to count up. 

“If every one would use that hour each 
day in reading a good book, or in thinking, 
or in doing something else that is useful, 



80 


how much better the world would be in 
another hundred years!” 

Father Thrift sat and thought for a whole 
hour. 

Then he waked the bear and each went to 
his own bed to rest for the night. 

What a funny sight it was — a man and a 
bear sleeping side by side in the same room! 

Early the next morning Father Thrift and 
the bear went to the maple grove to tap their 
trees. 

Father Thrift bored holes in the tree 
trunks. Then he pounded a little spout into 
each hole for the sap to run through. 

As they had no handles on their pails and 
crocks, they could not hang them on the 
spouts. Instead they set them down in the 
snow under the spouts. 

The sun was getting warm, and was draw- 
ing up the sap from the roots of the tree into 
its branches. Soon you could hear it drip, 
drip, dripping into the pails and the crocks. 


Shaggy Bear was too astonished to talk. 
He put out his paw, and a great drop of 
shining yellow maple sap fell on it. Then 
he licked his paw. Then he grunted, a funny 
bear .grunt of surprise and pleasure. 

Mmmmm! It was good! It was sweet, 
truly. And what a delicious flavor it had! 

The bear put out his paw again and again. 



82 


And how he did lick the sap off it! My, oh, 
my! it was sweet! Not even the honey of the 
bee tasted so good. It was like nothing else 
in the whole forest. 

Meanwhile Father Thrift was arranging 
his kettle and pans and building a fire. 

“Now let us pour all the sap into one 
pail,” he said, “and perhaps we shall have 
enough to start boiling.” 

“Oh, but that may spoil it!” cried Shaggy 
Bear. 

“The sap is made sweeter by boiling,” said 
Father Thrift. But the bear did not see how 
that could be. 

When the sap began to boil, Father Thrift 
told Shaggy to stir it, so that it would not 
burn. 

Suddenly the bear began jumping about 
and crying: “Father Thrift, come here,. come 
here!” 

Father Thrift ran over to see what had 
happened. 


83 


Shaggy was all excitement. 

“Look!” he cried. “Look in the kettle! 
We had much there. Now we have little. 
I told you the fire would spoil it!” 

“No,” replied Father Thrift, smilingly, 
“the fire has not spoiled anything. When the 
sap boils, the water in it goes away in steam. 
And the longer it boils, the more the water 
goes away. 

“This time we will not let it boil so very 
long, and then we shall have sirup. But the 
next kettle of sap we will boil longer and 
then we shall have maple sugar.” 

When the sirup grew thick, Father Thrift 
said, “Taste!” And the bear tasted. 

“Oh, Father Thrift,” he cried in delight, 
“it is the best thing I have ever tasted! 
Truly, the boiling improves it.” 

Then when the maple sugar was done, 
Father Thrift called Shaggy. 

“Taste this,” he said. 

Ah, how good it was! Nothing like it had 


84 


ever gone into Shaggy Bear’s mouth before. 
Never had he tasted such sweetness. 

And, oh, what a wonderful meal they had 
that night! Father Thrift made golden corn 
cakes, and he and Shaggy ate the hot cakes 
with fresh maple sirup poured over them. 

The bear grew thoughtful after supper. 

“Now I know why I used to get into so 
much trouble,” he said. “I have had too 
much idle time on my hands. 

“After this I will work hard and learn. 
I — I think I could help you a lot, Father 
Thrift. Will — you — let — me — stay — if 
— I — do?” 

“I shall be glad to have you stay, always,” 
said Father Thrift. 

And the bear was so overjoyed at what 
Father Thrift said that he cried. 


85 



ROBINS, CROWS, AND BLACKBIRDS 

A soft little breeze was blowing. It was 
warm, and it had in it the smell of green 
things growing — trees, and buds, and grass, 
and flowers. 

Little birds were singing. And they had 
joy and gladness in their voices. And the 
colors of the rainbow were in their feathers. 

Little brooks were flowing — flowing and 
growing into rivers. They sparkled in the 
merry sunshine, and their laughter could be 
heard everywhere they went. 

The whole forest was glad. Why? 

Because it was spring, merry spring. And 


86 


spring is the gladdest, happiest time of all 
the year. 

Father Thrift was plowing his garden and 
Shaggy Bear was helping him. 

And do you know how they worked 
together? 

Father Thrift held the handles of the plow 
and Shaggy pulled it. He was the horse. 
A funnier sight you have never seen! 

The ground was hard, so that no seed could 
grow in it. Father Thrift turned the earth 
over with his plow. This loosened the soil 
and made it soft. 

The robins followed the plow and found 
nice large angleworms for their breakfast. 
Then they sang this song: 

Cheerily cheer-up! Cheerily cheer-up! 

Cheerily cheer, we’re glad you’re here, 

Little fat worms. Oh, cheerily cheer-up, 

Cheerily cheer, we ’re glad you ’re here ! 

But the little fat worms only turned and 
squirmed. They sang no song at all. 


87 



The crows and. the blackbirds followed 
Father Thrift, too. They ate the grub worms 
and the beetles and other insects which they 
found. 

Then, when the ground was ready, Father 
Thrift and Shaggy Bear planted the seeds. 

The robins did not follow them now. 

But the crows and the blackbirds did. 
An d do you know what they were doing? 

They were eating the seeds almost as fast 


88 


as Father Thrift and Shaggy dropped them 
into the ground. 

Father Thrift stopped in his work. 

“Crows and blackbirds,” he said, “you must 
not do that.” 

“Why?” asked one old crow. “We always 
have done it.” 

“Yes, I know you have,” replied Father 
Thrift. “And that is what has given you 
such a bad name with the farmer. 

“By eating the seed or pulling up sprout- 
ing corn you spoil the crop. And so you 
have less food for yourselves in the end.” 

“How is that?” asked Cousin Blackbird. 

“Well,” explained Father Thrift, “every 
grain of corn you eat now would make ears 
of corn if you let it stay in the ground to 
grow. 

“And of every ear of corn grown some 
kernels are left in the field in the shocking. 
So that for every kernel not eaten now you 
would have many kernels in the autumn. 


89 


“Besides, if you will keep the bad bugs and 
worms and grasshoppers out of my garden, 
I promise to give you every tenth ear of all 
the corn I grow'.” 

Then the crows got together. And all you 
could hear from them was a loud “Caw, caw, 
caw !” 

But they must have agreed that Father 
Thrift’s proposal was a fair one. The old 
crow spoke for all the crows. He said: 

“We will do as you ask, Father Thrift. 
We wish all farmers were as reasonable 
with us. 

“We help the farmer, but we get no credit 
for it. We eat many, many grasshoppers 
and beetles and worms and caterpillars and 
weevils every year. 

“These would be at work destroying the 
farmer’s crops if we did not eat them. And, 
for all that, the farmer is always chasing and 
killing us.” 

“No,” said Father Thrift, “the farmer does 


90 


not dislike you for the good you do. He dis- 
likes you for the harm you do. Your bad 
habits make you unpopular. Why don’t you 
give them up?” 

“Caw, caw, caw!” cried all the crows. I 
suppose they meant, “Yes, yes, yes.” 

But whether or not they meant what they 
said I don’t know. 

As for the blackbirds, whatever was agree- 
able to the crows was satisfactory to them. 
And they flew away singing, “Conk-err-ee! 
Conk-err-ee!” 

And as Father Thrift and Shaggy Bear sat 
down under a tree to rest, Mr. Robin sang 
his song from the topmost bough. It was 
like this: 

Cheerily clieer-up! Cheerily cheer-up! 

Cheerily cheer, five of us here; 

Mother and me, and babies three. Cheer up, 
Cheerily cheer, we’re happy here. 

You see, Mr. Robin’s English was not per- 
fect, but he was too happy to be careful. 


91 



THE LITTLE RAINDROPS 

Every seventh day Father Thrift rested. 
To-day was Sunday, the seventh day. 

Father Thrift, as usual, arose just as the 
gray clouds were bidding the earth good-by. 

How that queer little old man did enjoy 
those summer mornings! 

Hot many people get up early enough to 
know what they are like. 

It is then that the birds sing for Father 
Sun to awake. And the chorus of thanks- 
giving which arises from the woods and the 
fields is enough to gladden any one’s heart. 


92 


Every boy and girl should learn to know 
these beautiful morning hours. 

But this morning the dark clouds lingered 
longer than usual. That was because they 
had brought the raindrops from their home 
in the sky to visit the earth below. 

The flowers lifted their grateful heads to 
greet the raindrops. 

The thirsty roots under the ground were 
made glad by 
them. And so 
were the leaves 
and the buds and 
all the growing 
green things 
above the ground. 
The frogs 
jumped about in their glee and croaked joy- 
fully, “Oh, what fun we have!” 

The brook rushed rejoicing to the river, 
and the river ran to the sea. And both sang 
on their way. 



93 


But the birds and the squirrels were not 
so happy when the raindrops came tumbling 
down from the sky. They hid in their nests 
and under the leaves of the trees and waited 
for them to go away. 

Even Shaggy Bear did not like the rain. 
He hid in the cave, to keep his fur dry. 

Now the time was drawing near when 
most people were waking — that is, in the 
cities. The farmer has learned to know the 
beautiful early hours of the morning. 

“Let us play,” cried a tiny raindrop to the 
others. “Let us play and stay here always. 
For the earth is a beautiful place.” 

But the older and wiser raindrops trickled 
away and hid almost anywhere they could. 

Some of them hid in Father Thrift’s gar- 
den. Some of them jumped into the brook. 

They knew they were sent down to the 
earth to do some good, and not to spend their 
time in playing. They had plenty of time 
in the sky for play. 


94 


So if they wished to stay on the earth they 
must work. 

The little raindrops that hid in Father 
Thrift’s garden would help to make the 
plants grow. 

Those that jumped into the brook would 
help to give a good cool drink to all who 
were thirsty. 

Then Father Sun came out from behind the 
gray clouds. 

“Come, little raindrops, down on earth,” 
he said. “Those of you that are not busy, 
or are not needed there, must come home. 
You have important work to do elsewhere.” 

And, like the good father that he was, he 
gathered up all that he could find and put 
them into pretty white and blue boats. And 
the wind gently sailed them across the sky. 

Then the Rain Fairies and the Sun Fairies 
joined hands until they made a beautiful 
arch from earth to heaven. 

We call this arch the rainbow. The gay 


95 


colors are the pretty dresses of the fairies. 

Now the birds of the forest came forth 
from their nests. They fluttered their little 
wings and sent the 
raindrops which had 
rested on them down 
to the flowers and the 
grasses. 

Then they flew into 
the tree tops, where 
Father Sun could see 
them. And, as though to make up for lost 
time, they sang more sweetly than they did 
on clear days. 

How their songs gladdened the forest! 

Father Thrift sat on a log to listen to that 
orchestra of a thousand throats trilling from 
the tree tops. 

And Shaggy Bear came out from the cave 
and sat down beside him. 

“A pretty world it would be without the 
birds!” said Father Thrift. 



96 


“How dull it would be without their colors! 
The rainbow cannot match them. 

“How cheerless it -would be without their 
song! Man cannot equal it.” 

And you may be sure that Father Thrift 
and Shaggy Bear did not forget the birds 
in their prayers that night. 



97 



TROUBLE IN THE FOREST 

The next day was Monday, the first of July. 
Father Thrift turned the leaf of his home- 
made calendar. Then he and Shaggy Bear 
went out into the garden to work. 

All of a sudden they heard such a commo- 
tion! They looked up and saw a great flock 
of birds flying toward them. 

There were robins and bluebirds and king- 
birds and bobolinks and brown thrashers and 
catbirds and meadow larks and woodpeckers 
and wrens, and all the other birds of the 
forest. 

Did they come to sing for Father Thrift 
because it was the first of July? 




98 


No, not one of the birds was singing now. 
They were chattering and crying, but you 
could not make out what the fuss was all 
about. 

To Father Thrift and Shaggy it sounded 
something like this: 

Cliarr, charr, caw, caw, churr, ckurr, chee, chee, 
Peenk, peenk, quit, quit, chuck, chuck,- whee, whee, 
Tzip, tzip, thsee, thsee, conk-err-ee, whack, 

Jay, jay, mew, mew, whip, chip, crack, tehack, 
R-r-r-r-r-r-r ! ! 

“R-r-r-r-r-r-r” meant, “We’re angry. Next 
time we will fight them.” 

Now the woodpeckers drummed for quiet: 
“Rrr-runk, tunk, tunk!” 

Then Mr. Robin walked up to Father 
Thrift. He said, “Oh, Father Thrift, we 
have come to tell you that the boys have been 
very mean to us. Let me tell you what they 
did to us. 

“While Mrs. Robin and I were away they 
climbed up into the tree where we had built 


99 



our nest and stole our eggs.” And there were 
tears in his. bright eyes. 

Then Mr. Bluebird came. He was a pretty 
little fellow, and mannerly too. “Oh, Father 
Thrift,” he said, “let me tell you what the 
boys did to me. 

“My nest was in a hole in your apple tree. 
The boys tore the green apples off the tree 


100 


and threw them all about. They stuffed them 
into the hole where my nest was and uow I 
have no home. 

“They are not afraid even of you.” 

Then Mr. Kingbird came up. He said: 
“What Cousin Bluebird has just told you is 
true. One of the apples struck m3’ nest and 
knocked it down. 

“There were four speckled eggs in it. I 
have lost not only m3’ home but my pretty 
eggs with it. Is that right, Father Thrift?” 

And sadness and sorrow were in his voice. 

Just then Brown Thrasher came along. He 
was hopping on one foot. “Oh, Father 
Thrift,” he said, “look what has happened to 
me! I was harming no one. I was just 
singing a song, when I was hit in the leg.” 

“And pretty are the songs you can sing,” 
said Father Thrift. “Many, many times have 
I been made happy by your sweet and cheer- 
ful notes. But who was it that hurt you?” 

“The boys,” replied Brown Thrasher. 


101 


“They hit me with a stone from their sling 
shot and broke my leg.” 

Now Mrs. Bobolink came up. “Oh, Father 
Thrift,” she said, sobbing, “hear me! 

“While I put our house in order Mr. Bobo- 
link would stand guard to see that no enemies 
came near us. 

“And he would sing to me at the same time. 
Such sweet songs as he could sing! I think 
no other bird could equal him. 

“We, too, had some eggs in our nest. And 
we were happy. Yesterday Mr. Bobolink 
was perched on the tip of a bough, singing, 
when suddenly he fell to the ground. 

“I flew to see what the trouble was. And 
do you know what had happened? 

“He was dead. He had been hit on the 
head with a stone. Not far away I saw the 
boys who killed him. 

“To-day we dug a grave and buried him 
under his favorite tree.” And poor Mrs. 
Bobolink cried harder than ever. 


102 


Then Father and Mother Meadow Lark 
came up. “Oh, Father Thrift,” they cried, 
“listen to what has happened to us! 

“We had four little children in a nest in 
the field. The nest was covered over with 
grasses. We thought it perfectly safe. 

“But while we were away getting food for 
our little ones, some one stole them all.” 

And the Meadow Larks wept as though 
their hearts would break. 

“It must have been the boys!” chorused all 
the birds. 

Father Thrift looked very angry. 

“All this is very sad,” he said. “I am sorry 
indeed to hear it. But, little friends, go home 
and make the best of things for the present. 

“Shaggy Bear and I will find some way to 
help you.” 

Then the birds flew away. And they made 
such a noise that the clouds trembled in 
the sky. 


103 



TWO BAD BOYS 

For a while neither Father Thrift nor the 
bear spoke. 

Then the queer little old man said: 

“Those boys must be punished, Shaggy. 
They must be taught a lesson. Killing birds 
is no joke. 

“To-morrow morning take your lunch with 
you and go to the north edge of the forest. 
There you will find a crooked road that is 
little traveled. 

“I believe that this is the road over which 
the boys came. They will come again. 

“Hide yourself behind a tree and watch 
for them. And when you catch them bring 
them to me.” 


104 


“Yes, yes,” said Shaggy, “I certainly will.” 

So early the next morning Father Thrift 
packed the bear’s lunch and oft Shaggy 
started for the north edge of the forest. 

But he returned late that night, tired and 
cross, without the boys. 

The same thing happened the next day, and 
the next. 

Shaggy was so discouraged by this time 
that he thought it of no use to try again. 

But Father Thrift said: “Gro just this once 
more. And if you do not have better luck 
to-day you need not go again.” 

So Shaggy went for the fourth time. 

And, as it happened, he did have better 
luck. 

When he reached the edge of the forest 
he seated himself beside a large tree near the 
road, to watch. But the kind breeze was 
blowing so softly that he soon fell asleep. 

And as he slept he dreamed a dream — a 
very strange sort of dream. 


105 


He dreamed he was the king of Honey- 
bee Land. All of his subjects were honey- 
bees, and there were exactly one million of 
them. 

In another month there would be half a 
million more of them. 

If he had so much honey now, think how 
much more he w T ould have when the other 
half million honeybees started to gather it! 

Now all that he had to do was to eat the 
honey as fast as the honeybees made it. 

That seemed easy enough. Um-m, how he 
loved that honey! 

But soon he found out that bees are very 
busy and very thrifty little things. 

Oh, how very, very busy they kept him 
trying to eat all the honey they made! 

Each day his stomach was getting larger 
and larger. How much farther could it 
stretch? 

Then, “Whizz!” he woke up with a start. 

“I thought so! I thought so!” he said to 


106 



himself, as he placed his paws on his stomach 
and rolled up his eyes. 

But, no, his stomach hadn’t exploded at 
all. He could feel that. 

Besides, there was an arrow lying right 


107 


beside him. The arrow must have hit him. 

J ust then he happened to remember where 
he was. 

“The boys!” he said to himself. “The boys! 
In mischief, with a bow and arrows.” 

He looked around. And there they were, 
sitting under a tree not a hundred feet away 
from him! 

He could see a bow and arrows on the 
ground beside. them. But what were they 
doing? 

They were holding something in their 
hands. First they would look at it, then they 
would blow on it. Then they would look 
again and blow again. 

The bear crept closer. Everything was 
clear to him now! The boys had killed a 
bird and they were trying to find the spot 
where the arrow had struck it. 

So interested were they in this that they 
did not notice the bear stealing up behind 
them. 


108 


When he got right over them he gave a 
dreadful growl: “Gr-r-r-r!” 

It was very loud and very fierce. 

“Why did you kill that bird?” he asked. 
“I have a good mind to eat you alive.” And 
he gave another fierce growl. 

The boys acted like frightened rabbits. 
They were too astonished to speak. 

The bear picked up the bow and arrows. 

“One, attention!” he commanded. “Two, 
get ready! Three, go!” 

The boys took to the path which led toward 
their homes. But the bear called them back. 

“You don’t understand,” he said. “Now, 
go the other way. To-night you must report 
to Father Thrift. Gr-r-r-r! And not another 
word.” 

This last command must have been a bear 
joke, for the boys had not uttered a word. 

Then away they all started — the boys as 
Shaggv’s prisoners — for the cave in the 
forest. 


109 



THE BOYS AND THE BIRDS 

The boys spent an uncomfortable night in 
Father Thrift’s cave. 

Half the time they could not sleep. And, 
worse still, the other half they dreamed such 
dreadful dreams! 

But the next morning, after they had 
had breakfast with Father Thrift and 
Shaggy Bear, the boys felt much better. 

Still, they had a feeling that something 
terrible was about to happen to them. How 
they longed to go home! 

Then the queer little old man seated him- 
self on a log just outside the door of the 
cave. 

“Shaggy Bear,” he said, “go, tell Jenny 


110 


Wren to ask all the birds of the forest to 
come here.” 

Soon all the birds had come. And, oh! 
what excitement there was when they saw 
the boys! 

“Shoot them with an arrow! Hit them 
with a stone! Kill them!” the angry little 
creatures cried. 

Father Thrift lifted his hand for order. 

When things were quiet, and the birds had 
gathered around him, the queer little old man 
stood up. In a soft and somewhat sad voice 
he said to the birds: 

“My friends, let us act calmly and justly. 
Let us consider well before we decide on the 
punishment which these boys should receive 
if they are found guilty.” 

“But,” protested Mr. Robin, “they climbed 
into our tree and stole our eggs.” 

“They ruined my home,” cried Cousin 
Bluebird, “and they wasted your apples in 
doing it!” 


in 



“Yes, and they knocked down my nest 
and broke all the eggs in it,” added Mr. 
Kingbird. 

“They broke my leg with a stone from a 
sling shot,” piped Brown Thrasher. 

“And they killed my poor husband,” cried 
Mrs. Bobolink. 


112 


“They stole our four little children,” 
sobbed the Meadow Larks. 

“And they shot a bird with an arrow yes- 
terday,” added Shaggy Bear. “Here is the 
bird. Here, too, are the bow and the arrow.” 
And he handed them all to Father Thrift. 

“Why, they Ve shot my cousin, Blackbird!” 
cried the Crow, who had been quiet up to 
now. “I have a good mind to bite oft their 
noses and scratch out their eyes.” 

“R-r-r-r-r-r! Charr! charr! charr!” All the 
birds became very much excited. They 
screamed and fluttered their wings, and 
their eyes shone with anger. 

The boys were badly frightened. But 
Father Thrift quickly restored order. 

He said: “Let us first hear what the boys 
have to say. We will ask them a few ques- 
tions.” 

He faced the boys. “Did you do what the 
birds say you did?” he asked. 

The boys hung their heads in shame. 


113 


Then one of them answered, after a pause, 
“I guess so.” 

“Why did you do it?” asked Father Thrift. 

“Well,” replied the other boy, “most of the 
birds are no good, anyway. They just eat 
everything we plant.” 

“What of yours have they eaten?” asked 
Father Thrift. 

“The robins have been stealing our cher- 
ries,” said the boy, “until we have hardly 
any left for ourselves. 

“The bluebirds eat our berries and grapes. 

“The kingbirds eat not only our fruit, but 
our honeybees as well. 

“The brown thrashers eat our raspberries 
and currants, while whole flocks of bobolinks 
get their food from our oat fields. 

“The meadow larks eat our grain. 

“And as for the blackbirds and crows, they 
are the worst thieves in the world. They 
even pull up our sprouting grain. 

“So why shouldn’t we kill the birds? 


114 


They are our enemies, and they do nothing 
but harm. 

“And, besides, we have n’t killed more than 
a dozen of them. Who would miss a dozen 
in a world so full of birds?” 

By this time most of the birds were quiv- 
ering with anger. 

And they cried again: “Shoot them with 
an arrow! Hit them with a stone! Kill 
them! 

“Who would miss two in a world so full 
of boys?” 

“Listen, my friends,” said Father Thrift. 
“I agree with you that the boys deserve to 
be treated in the same way that they have 
treated you. They have been cruel. 

“Still, let us not act in haste or anger. 
Let us think matters over well. Perhaps we 
shall find that some wrong has been done 
on both sides. 

“Go, now, and return at two o’clock. We 
will decide then what it is best to do.” 




115 



INSECTS AND WORMS 


Long before two o’clock that afternoon the 
birds returned to their place in front of 
Father Thrift’s cave. 

Some of them sat on the ground, some on 
the low branches of the trees, and others in 
the bushes. 

Now and again Shaggy Bear came out to 
tell some bird that Father Thrift wished to 
speak with him. 

Evidently important things were going on 
within the cave. But what? 

Oh, how the time dragged to those waiting 
birds! Would two o’clock never come? 

At last the cave door opened again, and 
Shaggy Bear came out with his prisoners. 


116 


Shaggy was the sheriff, and his business 
was to take care that the boys did not run 
away. 

Hardly were they seated when Father 
Thrift came out of the cave. 

In one hand he carried a roll of paper, and 
with the other he adjusted the spectacles 
on his nose. He looked just like the judge 
he was supposed to be. 

As in a regular courtroom, every one 
straightened up and was all attention when 
the judge came. 

The queer little old man seated himself on 
the stump of a tree. 

Before him stood a high bench or table, 
made of rough boards. On this he spread out 
his paper. 

Then, turning toward Shaggy Bear, he 
said, “The sheriff and the prisoners will 
please step forward.” 

And as they stood before him, Father 
Thrift read to the boys the court’s decision. 


117 



“The one who sins against the birds,” 
the decision ran, “sins against man’s best 
friends. 

“If we destroyed the birds, we ourselves 
could not live. Within a few years there 
would be so many insects and worms that 
crops could not be raised and plants could 
not grow. The bugs and the caterpillars 
would eat all the leaves off the trees, 


118 


while the worms would destroy the roots. 

“The flies and other harmful insects would 
kill the cattle. And then they would carry 
sickness and disease among us. 

“Why, the grasshoppers would dance on 
our very tables, while the crickets sat on the 
dishes and played tunes! 

“The ants would, use our kitchens for 
parade grounds, and the worms would crawl 
under our feet, in our houses. 

“Yet you said that the birds were your 
enemies, and that they do only harm. 

“You complained of the robins and the 
bluebirds; the kingbirds and the brown 
thrashers; the bobolinks and the meadow 
larks; the crows and the blackbirds. 

“So I have taken pains to look into the 
habits of each of these. 

“The robin, I find, works during the whole 
season to make it possible for the farmer to 
raise his crops. He is a natural enemy of 
bugs and worms. 


119 


“He gets no pay for this work and asks 
for none. And the only reason he eats 
your cherries is because you have destroyed 
the wild fruit trees and berry bushes that 
used to grow by the roadside. Plant them 
there again and the robin, and all the other 
birds too, will spare your fruit. 

“The bluebird catches the bad bugs and 
grasshoppers and beetles and spiders and 
caterpillars in your orchard. And he very 
rarely takes even a bite of your berries or 
grapes. 

“The kingbird is a fine flycatcher and he 
does much good. Sometimes he does eat a 
honeybee, it is true, but it must be because 
he mistakes it for a large fly. 

“The brown thrasher makes his home in 
the swamps and groves. He does eat some 
raspberries and currants, in addition to the 
harmful insects he devours, but nearly all 
of these must be wild ones. 

“The few oats the bobolinks eat you could 


120 


never miss, because these birds feed mostly 
on insects and the seeds of useless plants. 

“The meadow lark saves thousands of 
dollars every year on the hay crop. He builds 
his nest on the ground in the meadow and 
feeds himself and his large family on the 
crickets and grasshoppers he finds there. 

“The crow and the blackbird, I know, eat 
some of your corn. But they will not touch 
the seed corn if you put coal tar on it. 

“Both of these birds do a great deal of 
good, for which they get no credit. In the 
spring they follow the plow in search of large 
grub worms, of which they are very fond. 
They also eat grasshoppers, and weevils, and 
caterpillars. 

“All of which goes to prove that the more 
birds we have, the fewer bugs there are, to 
bother us. And the fewer bugs there are, 
the more food we have. 

“Therefore, I find that you two boys are 
guilty of a great wrong. Not only have you 


121 


killed the farmer’s most valuable friends, 
but you have destroyed food as well. 

“Your punishment will be one year in 
prison for every bird that you have killed.” 

At this the boys almost dropped to the 
ground, they were so badly frightened. 

“Oh, Father Thrift,” they cried, “please 
don’t put us in prison! We have learned a 
lesson, and we promise never to kill another 
bird if you will only let us go.” 

“My friends, what do you think?” asked 
Father Thrift, turning to the birds. 

The hearts of the birds softened at the 
sight of the boys’ distress. And they said, 
“Give them another chance, Father Thrift.” 

“But theirs is a serious offense,” Father 
Thrift said gravely. 

Then he turned toward the boys. 

“I will release you on one condition,” he 
said, “and that is that you will henceforth 
be kind to all harmless living creatures, 
and protect them from cruel usage. 


122 


“Also, that you will ask all the other boys, 
and their fathers as well, to do the same. 

“Build bird houses for your feathered 
friends and encourage them to come to your 
villages and farms. 

“In the end you will profit greatly by it.” 

“We promise to do that,” the boys agreed 
eagerly. 

“Now Shaggy Bear will help you to find 
your way out of the forest,” said Father 
Thrift. 

“Your bow and arrows I shall keep, for 
you will never want them again. 

“And when you get home, tell your fathers 
and mothers, your grandfathers and grand- 
mothers, your brothers and sisters, and the 
rest of my friends in the town, that Father 
Thrift sends them his best regards.” 

Then the boys said good-by, and they 
wasted no time in going. 





AFTER MANY DAYS 

The whole town was searching for the two 
missing boys. No one could imagine what 
had happened to them. 

“We shall never see them again!” sobbed 
their mothers. But they did see them. 

That very day, when the little birds had 
gone to sleep in their nests, and the crickets 
chirped by the roadside, while night and the 
stars looked down upon the earth, the two 
tired and hungry boys appeared. 

Their mothers and fathers were overjoyed 
at their safe return. 

A ll the townspeople crowded about them. 

But the people could hardly believe the 
strange story they told. 


124 


“Father Thrift! Father Thrift!” they cried. 
“Why, it cannot be!” 

For this was none other than the quaint 
old town in which the queer little old man 
had lived for so many years. 

“Upon our word and honor!” said the boys 
earnestly. “See, we cross our hearts.” 

And they did. 

This seemed to satisfy most of the vil- 
lagers that the boys were telling the truth. 

“Still, the forest is dense with trees and 
brush,” said one old man, shaking his head 
doubtfully. “And it is alive with wild and 
dangerous animals. 

“Not one of us has ever dared to go beyond 
the edge of that forest. How could Father 
Thrift live there?” 

“Let us not doubt,” said another old man. 
“We had better follow the advice which has 
been sent us. 

“Have we not suffered since Father Thrift 
left us because we would not take his advice? 


125 


“We did not appreciate him when he was 
here. We have learned to appreciate him 
since he went away.” 

So the w r onderful story was told and retold 
for miles and miles around. And Father 
Thrift’s good advice was taken to heart. 

And the birds came by hundreds to live 
in the neighborhood. 

The crops grew better each year. 

And the people felt happier. 

Then they pondered the things which 
Father Thrift had taught them. And they 
did again as they had done when he was 
with them. 

They lived simply, spent wisely, and 
wasted nothing. 

And the quaint old town and the country 
around it grew prosperous, as in the days 
of old. 

Then after many days the people said: 

“We must enter the wood at all costs — 
even at the risk of our lives. 


126 



“We must find good Father Thrift and do 
him honor.” 

So they went down the crooked road that 
led to the forest and went in. The two boys 
led the way. 

They heard the birds singing in the trees. 

They saw the squirrels leaping and run- 
ning. 

They heard the ripple of the silvery brook. 

They breathed the perfume of the pine 
trees and the firs. 

They traced the footprints of bears, and 
rabbits, and deer. 




127 


Every little thing interested them now. 

They gazed at the tender blue sky above. 
Never before had it looked so beautiful. 

Never had the grass seemed so fresh and 
sweet and green. 

Nor had the flowers ever seemed so richly 
colored and so sweetly scented. 

Truly, the forest was a glorious place! 

x\nd nowhere — nowhere did they find the 
dreadful animals which they had lived to 
fear these many years. 

But they found a cave, a very strange sort 
of cave. It had two windows and a door. 

Inside were two beds and two chairs, and 
a table and a fireplace. 

On the wall hung a home-made calendar. 

Just outside the door was a high bench or 
table, and back of it stood a tree stump. 

“This is the place where Father Thrift 
lived,” said the boys. “How well we remem- 
ber it!” But Father Thrift was not there 
now. The place was vacant. 


128 


“The queer little old man must have gone 
to live in the beautiful, happy, sunny land of 
which he often talked,” said one of the 
men. And the others agreed with. him. 

Still stands the cave in the forest. People 
from miles and miles away visit it. 

The guide tells them the wonderful story 
of Father Thrift and his animal friends. And 
it seems that with each retelling the story 
grows more and still more wonderful. 

And there is a bird that lives in the wood 
which on moonlight nights, whether he sits 
on a branch, or hops on the ground, or flies 
about, is always heard whistling, “Fa-ther 
Thrift! Fa-ther Thrift!” 

Many people misunderstand and think 
that he is saying, “Whip-poor-will! Whip- 
poor-will!” 

But why any one should wish to whip any 
one else I do not know. For the world is 
such a happy place. 

















